


Cappuccino

by orphan_account



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Coffee, F/M, dubiously negotiated power balances, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coffee break between captor and prisoner.</p><p>Written for the jerkin_off meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cappuccino

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly-edited fill for this prompt: http://www.dreamwidth.org/go?redir_type=threadroot&journal=jerkin_off&talkid=13093  
> Uploaded because someone pointed out the Queen doesn't show up in the main list of tags on AO3 and this is an outrage.

"My love."

The Batter tipped his hat in a mockery of a salute, and leaned back in the ridiculous chair she had given him. The ornate winding metal jabbed between his shoulder blades with seeming murderous intent, but he would not stand at her attention--he would not give her that, at least, even as her prisoner.

The Queen slowly approached him with a saucer clasped between her thumb and fingertip, a small white cup trembling and rattling on top with its silver spoon threatening to fall. She was so graceful, her dress floating across the black and white tiles, and her fingers so delicate, perhaps the cup was just terrified. He wouldn't blame it.

He'd been too long in this bird cage, thinking such fanciful shit. His ground his teeth.

She effortlessly slid into the other chair, and placed the cup and saucer upon the chequered cloth covering the round table between them. Silence and the scent of good, hot coffee filled the air.

"It's been a long day." She reached under and grabbed the baseball bat he had propped under the table, tossing it to the side. It rolled across the tiles of his cage, and clattered against the metal wall. "I'd like at least one moment of peace before I hear anything from you. Understand?"

He remembered what she did to him last time he really protested anything. He nodded, unrepentant nonetheless.

"Keep your hands on the table, where I can see them."

He sat up straighter with a grunt and placed both hands on his edge. "Like this?"

"Good. I made you a cappuccino." The Queen scooped a spoonful of froth from the cup, laced with chocolate, and held it to his mouth. "A nice treat, to make up for the cake."

The Batter's nose screwed up at the scent of hot milk. It churned his empty stomach. But it was food, and he ducked forward and gulped it down before she changed her mind. It was sweet, the silver spoon warm on his tongue.

The Queen drew the spoon from between his lips. "I saved you a piece," she went on, stirring the cup. "But the gluttons found it and ate every crumb. His friends can be so exasperating."

"Another cake? How many birthdays is that now?"

"Please, dear." She admonished him with her empty eyes, a peculiarly mundane look of annoyance wrinkling her brow. "Let's not talk about that. I just want to have a nice, civil, pleasant time today. Drink your coffee."

The Batter reached out for the cup unguarded and the Queen jammed her heel into his shin. He shouted and his hand fell short with a thud that rattled the cup and the cage.

Her head shook, slowly.

He glared at her, his hands balling into fists.

"You wouldn't dare."

He lowered his gaze. No, no, he wouldn't. His hands drew back to his sides. His broad fingers splayed against the table's surface, and he waited.

When the Queen was satisfied, she daintily lifted the cup and pushed the saucer across the table. It was the only plain patch of white in a cage full of chequers; it gave his eyes respite before she poured in the cappuccino.

He pushed back his chair, scraping long white lines in the polished tiles. He bowed his head, his shirt stretching as his arms flexed under his weight.

His nose almost dipped into the coffee as he sipped at the liquid. It was strong and sugary and not too hot; he slurped at it louder, then licked up the dregs. His fingers bent a little, his crooked knuckles jutting from his skin.

The brim of his cap was pushing against the table and the Queen plucked it from his head. He heard her throw it to the floor. "How is it?"

He muttered grudging approval as he licked up the last drops. Without the hat, he could see her lift the cup again, and the table's rattling betrayed his sudden shiver.

The Queen poured more in, almost scalding his cheek and letting it splash and overflow into the tablecloth. She watched him lap at the saucer and suck at the sweet stains on the fabric and fall back into his chair panting, his hands shaking and his lips flushed red.

She rubbed her bare toes into the new bruise on his leg and smiled at him. "Isn't this nice?"


End file.
